serve god, love me and mend
by suspiriorum
Summary: His motives are unknown, but his desires are not.


"_Darcy._"

He had the cunning to topple civilizations. He was capable of the ambition, if he so desired, to destroy worlds.

Here, now, as a god on Earth, any and all ambitious longings were set aside for something simpler. For the moment, the tremulous, soft body of the dark-haired human woman stretched out beneath him required his every attention.

It shouldn't have come this far, but even the best laid plans of gods go awry. Loki, however, was not one to back down from a challenge, and Darcy Lewis, though unexpected, was certainly not unanticipated.

She would've put a stop to it, if only her own thoughts weren't so chaotic. If only she weren't bare and at the mercy of his firm hands, warm mouth, and the solid, pulsing length of him. He was hard inside her; so very hard and so very ready. Neither were going to concede.

Long, tapered fingers curling into supple, pale flesh. His every touch, his every movement, was not without a considerable measure of care or reason; deliberate, purposeful, expert.

A sound escaped from her full, parted lips; a half-strangled cry, a hushed prayer. His own lips pressed tightly together, curving into a smile. God he may be, his expression was exclusively that of a human male; a smug satisfaction.

With every thrust, with every push of his hips, hard shards of sensation coursed through her; rising, rolling, rushing. His body pressed down to meet hers as she arched into him, and together, the two moved in unison. Though their rhythm was erratic and demanding, their sweat-slicked bodies thrummed in perfect pitch; god and mortal connected, strung together as if by a wire pulled taut.

There was something to her, something in her face that made him want to surge into her; that by their union, he was staking his claim upon her. His brows meeting together in concentration, his hips slowed as he brought his hands to cradle her face, his fingers threading into her hair.

A tension was now present in his features as he gazed intently upon her; there was _something_ untraceable, untouchable behind the depths of his green eyes that damn near unnerved her. It was then that she had felt an openness and vulnerability that was nearly alien. Looking into her eyes, he knew the source of her, the genealogy of all that she felt within each and every fragmented, shuddering moment as he stroked within her.

There was a startling gentleness to his movements, his touch, but still he remained resilient, unrelenting. Flushing with heat, she shivered, her body tightening and coiling. Needing to anchor the power of him, to yield the strength of him to her, she wrapped her arms around him, her hands palm flat on his back, feeling the shifting muscle as her smooth, shapely thighs slid up his sides, bringing the heels of her feet to settle on the small of his back; holding him in a passionate embrace. All that he gave, she returned with an equal fervor.

He could feel that she was on the precipice and and she was going to take him toppling over the edge with her.

His eyes locked on hers, he ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. His expression once more intense, he murmured to her in Norse. There was an almost imperceptible catch in his voice, colored by an unnameable emotion, adding a new dimension to his words; words that she did not make sense of, but understanding that he preferred it that way.

Then, bowing his head to hers, he covered her mouth with his own, kissing her. It was possessive and hungry, yet altogether tender. Her lips parted under his, accepting the wet slide of his tongue over hers. He gave her no time to respond, to react as he braced himself against her, giving one final, sharp thrust; gently, fully.

What was once not enough was now far too much. Quivering, she clutched at him, seeking his solidity to ground her as sensations rushed and rocked through her. Mouth held to hers, he swallowed her cries. Trembling, hips bucking, she broke apart, spiraling into rapturous oblivion. And as she clenched around him, she pulled him under with her, into the very core of her elation.

His body shuddering violently, his mouth wrenched from hers as he gave a ragged exhale. His hips pushed forward and into her, contracting as he came. She held him through his release and completion, as he trembled in her arms and relaxed into her.

She couldn't help but find amusement in the fact that she was comforting a _god_; a god she had, but mere moments earlier, come to know in the most intimate of circumstances. Even more than that, she was surprised at the affection he was now exhibiting as he spread kisses - _warm, soft_ - over her face, down her throat and further on, to her chest. He whispered more in Nordic along the way, more words she could not comprehend.

She was contented enough to let him be, however, she couldn't help but give pause, her breath catching in her throat as he placed a kiss over her heart. It was admittedly fleeting, but the gesture was more than enough to entirely justify their previous activities. Perhaps, she reasoned, she should've felt foolish for it, but as he brought his head to rest upon the generous curves of her breasts, she no longer cared.

Reaching a hand up, she ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and watched as his eyes closed, exhausted from all he had given physically, and to an extent, emotionally. The reasons for his being there were still yet unknown to her and his motives were uncertain. All she knew what that there was something of her he wanted, something of himself he was willing to give to her. That, for now, she determined, would be more than enough.


End file.
